


Dennis's Body

by tallchild



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Jennifer's Body (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Jennifer's body au, M/M, it's still a feminist story just. backwards. okay, not kidding abt the major char death tag but the violence tag... ehhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 11:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallchild/pseuds/tallchild
Summary: “That’s nice. I’m still kind of depressed about, you know, the giant smoldering funeral pyre in the middle of town?”“Move on dot org, Mac! It’s over. Life’s too short to be moping over some white-trash pig roast.”Mac grimaced. “That’s sweet, Den.”“I tell it like it is. Besides! You should be happy for me. I’m having the best day since, like, Jesus invented the calendar.”“Jesus didn’t invent the calendar.” Mac was pretty sure, anyway.(a macden / charmac jennifer's body au)





	Dennis's Body

**Author's Note:**

> oh man i've been thinking about this au for like ? a year ? and now i'm finally posting it ? feels surreal !!!
> 
> the bones of this fic are taken directly from diablo cody's screenplay, with me fleshing out and changing some things, of course. it's (most likely) not necessary to have seen the movie to understand this fic. 
> 
> warnings for: some descriptions of violence/gore, show typical language/slurs, being more plot than ship driven, and of course, being overly dramatic and ridiculous. 
> 
> i've made a playlist to accompany this fic, feel free to check it out [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2EaJk1TJpmMxkJEM0xnMjb?si=1FJhwy4UTvCQ8x0aVAgO8A)
> 
> and if you're one of the 5,437 people who live in real life Schuylkill Haven, PA, i'd like to apologize in advance.

**PROLOGUE**

Mac’s eye, framed by two twigs in an “X” formation, stares ahead, vacant.  
The haunted expression is made more convincing by the heavy circles under his eyes, the pallid skin covering his cheeks. 

He looks like shit. 

After making sure the sticks are even, Mac starts to methodically twirl yarn around them. Wrap around, turn over. Wrap around, turn over. He’s making a God’s eye. His hands still as he realizes; he’s not sure he believes in God, not anymore. 

Not after what happened three months ago. 

He looks out the single, tiny window, sees the stately security fence. Looks down at his feet on the drab floor. Bare, and purple from cold.

There’s a rap on the door. 

“Rec time, Ronald.” 

“Grassy-ass, Raymundo.” Mac says, shuffling to pull on his jacket. It was Charlie’s jacket; it’s the green one, with the patches above the pockets. There’s still blood on the collar. 

-

Mac walks side by side with Raymundo as he escorts Mac to the cafeteria.

After a few beats of silence, Mac tries to make conversation. “I got a new letter today.” he says.

Raymundo‘s eyes flicker around the hallway. “A new letter to send to Utley? I really think that’s a lost cause.”

“No, bozo. A letter for me. From my old church. Said they’re praying for my soul, or some shit.” 

Mac pauses. 

“And Utley will respond, dude. He just gets a lot of fanmail -- another thing we have in common -- so it… takes him a while.” 

Raymundo snorts, then unlocks the door to the cafeteria and ushers Mac inside.

“Is that why your dad doesn’t reply?” he asks, snide. “Too much fanmail?”

Mac stops walking, and Raymundo’s eyes widen as he realizes his mistake. Mac buffers for a moment before he shouts, “What the fuck did you just say?” 

In a blink, Mac delivers a roundhouse kick to Raymundo’s face. And, unlike his usual “karate moves”, this time, it actually lands. Like, really lands. Raymundo slams to the unforgiving tile, gasping for air, clutching his bleeding, shattered nose. He stares up at Mac, half his age and a third of his size. 

Mac, currently restrained by at least three different staff members, tries to hawk up enough spit to launch at Raymundo’s now-fucked-up face. 

He’s hauled off before he can, but he’s still able to see another patient lean over Raymundo and comment, gleefully:  
“That’s what you get for fucking with a Kicker.” 

-

In solitary confinement, Mac has a lot of time to think. About what happened, and how, and where. 

Skull Kill Heaven. That was where it all went down. 

“Skull Kill” sounds twisted, even with “Heaven” tacked on the end, but the town was actually called Schuylkill Haven. Charlie once incorrectly sounded out the town name as “Skull Kill Heaven”, and bizarrely enough, the nickname stuck. With the kids in town, at least. 

Schuylkill Haven was actually named after a waterfall. Two waterfalls, technically. One emptied into the famous Schuylkill river, of course. The other waterfall was harder to explain. The water went into a gaping hole, and then it didn’t come out. Anywhere. Nothing did. 

Every month, like clockwork, white vans would pull up to the falls, filled with what he and Charlie lovingly referred to as “the scientist bitches". They’d drop all kinds of shit into the water: tennis balls, red dye, eggs, radioactive slime. But no matter what, nothing ever surfaced. 

Charlie used to say it went to another dimension. Dennis said it was probably just really, really deep. 

But the town itself, their town of “Skull Kill Heaven”, was very simple. Plain. A tiny borough with nothing to do and nothing to see but the dense, dark woods that surrounded it. It had only one bar, only one high school. 

Back then, Mac, Dennis, and Charlie were (fairly) normal teenagers. Back then, before the killings started, before everything went insane… they were content. Obviously, it didn’t last. 

-

**THREE MONTHS AGO**

Mac sat on the bleachers at the mandatory pep rally and watched Dennis and the rest of the cheerleading team. Dennis never seemed to truly enjoy the sport, but he craved the attention he got from being the only dude on the team. Plus, he liked the skimpy outfits he got to stare at up close on the girls, and the ones he got to wear and show off on himself. Today, he was wearing the school’s signature purple and yellow colors in the form of bike shorts and a t-shirt with an ‘S’ emblazoned on the front. And just like always, he was front and center. 

Dennis finished off the routine with one last dramatic flourish, and smiled for the crowd from his place in the center of the gym. Spotting Mac on the stands, he waved, smiling wider now, maybe even genuinely. Mac waved back, trying to keep his own grin under control. 

A nasally voice leaned down to speak into his ear. “You’re totally lesbi-gay.”  
Then, they followed up that statement with truly disgusting slurping noises. 

Mac turned as much as he could on the cramped bleachers to shove Gail the Snail and her nasty spittle away from him. 

“First of all, we can’t be “lesbi-gay” when we’re, you know, men.” 

Gail slurped. 

“Second,” Mac went on, “we’re not even regular-gay. He’s my best friend.” 

Gail imitated Mac’s wave to Dennis, her face contorting into a sarcastic, wide eyed expression, before going back to her default bored stare. 

Mac ignored her, crossing his arms and staring straight ahead. Looking at the middle of the gym. Where Dennis was. 

“You look at him like you want to dry hump him.” Gail’s slimy snail spit was coming dangerously close to Mac’s sweater now, but he forced himself to pretend she wasn’t there. 

“No judgment though,” Gail slurped again. “He looks hot in that uniform.”

Now, Mac turned. “Isn’t he, like, your cousin?” 

“Eh.” Gail replied, shrugging, and oozed away. 

-

Mac left the rally and shoved through the throng of people to gather his books for his next class. When he arrived at his locker, Dennis was already there, examining his nonexistent pimples in the little pink mirror he had placed in Mac’s own locker. Mac never thought to ask Dennis how he knew his combination. 

Dennis lit up when he noticed Mac. “Hey, Vinegar.” 

“What’s up, Honey?” 

They were silly little nicknames they’d called each other for years, but now Mac had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder for peeping snails.

Dennis slammed Mac’s locker shut. Pointed at him. Looked him right in the eyes. 

“You. and me,” he punctuated every other word with a poke to Mac’s chest, “are going out. Tonight.” 

Mac screwed up his face and tried to remember what was happening that night. In a small town like Skull Kill, there weren’t many events, and he couldn’t think of a single one this week.

“Okay... tonight? Why?” 

Dennis spun around, breaking eye contact with Mac for the first time since the conversation begun. Mac let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“The Pecan Sandies are playing at The Nutty Pear.” said Dennis. 

Mac frowned. “What kind of gay ass name is “The Pecan Sandies”?”

Dennis waved his hand dismissively. “They’re a girl band. From the city. And I hear the lead singer is extra salty.” He licked his lips. Mac tracked the movement before forcing himself to look up again. 

“And,” he lowered his voice, “there will be lots of other salty morsels there for you. Come on, Mac.” 

“Dude, I promised Charlie I’d hang out with him tonight.” 

“BOO!” Dennis tantrumed, attracting attention from a few nearby freshmen. “Cross out Mac!” He drew a dramatic “X” in the air with his finger. 

Mac shrunk down a little. “What time is the show?” 

Dennis perked up from his exaggerated brooding. “I’ll pick you up at 8:30. My dad has a date with some ugly chick from the ham store.” 

“But... what about your mom?” 

Dennis pulled a face, uncomprehending. “What about her? Just, wear something nice, okay?” 

-

“Wear something nice” meant something very specific in Dennis-speak. It meant Mac couldn’t look like total white trash, but he couldn’t upstage him, either. He fished through his closet for ages before deciding on a Sid Vicious inspired tank top with a hole that exposed his stomach and his arms. Never his chest. Pecs were Dennis’s trademark. 

Charlie was splayed out on Mac’s bed, watching him struggle to get dressed. 

“The hell are you wearing, dude?” 

Mac tsked. “It’s a rock show. I’m in my rock look.”

“Why is your “rock look” a ratty shirt with two cowboys hanging dong?”

“They are not hanging dong, Charlie, they--”

“--and those jeans are so tight, dude.”

“They’re skinny jeans! They’re supposed to be!”

“Yeah, well, I can see your entire dick, so…”

Mac pouted and went to change into a different pair of pants. Charlie nodded approvingly and flopped onto his back, staring at the glow in the dark stars that were still firmly stuck on Mac’s ceiling from when they were kids.

“I’ve never even heard of The Pecan Sandies. It’s some kind of Riot Grrrl thing? Which one is Dennis... DENNIS-ing?”

“The lead singer.” Mac said, finally satisfied with his outfit. “Guys like him don’t give a shit about keyboardists.”

“I got that. Thanks.”

Mac stopped examining himself in the mirror to face Charlie. “No offense. He’s made an exception for you, since you’re a keyboardist who also sings.”

“And I play the harmonica.” Charlie said. “Like Bob Dylan.”

“Who’s Bob Dylan?” Mac lathered his hands with gel and slicked his hair back. 

“Forget it. He’s semen, uh, seminal, but... whatever.” 

Charlie went back to doodling something in a spiral notebook that looked like a dog, maybe. Or a ghost? Mac decided not to ask. 

“Anyway, this singer chick? Dennis said she’s extra salty.”

“Salty?” Charlie asked, through a mouthful of crayon. It was blue. The blue ones tasted best, Charlie repeatedly told him. 

“Salty means hot.” Mac supplied, and pried open Charlie’s mouth to pull the crayon out, like he was a dog that got into something he shouldn’t have. Charlie didn’t protest, but he did lick Mac’s hand a little. Gross.

“I don’t get why you two gotta make up words, man. There’s already way too many words.” 

Mac wiped his slobbered-on hand on Charlie’s t-shirt and didn’t respond. There was a beat of silence. 

“Dennis is here.” Mac told him.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “How do you--”

“MAAAC! I’M HERE!” echoed from the base of the stairs.

“That’s fucking weird.” Charlie decided, and flopped back onto the bed with a soft thump.

Mac nodded knowingly and scrambled to grab all his shit for the concert. “I gotta get down there before he finds out I ate all the Thin Mints.” 

“You always do what Dennis tells you to do.” Charlie mumbled, face smashed into Mac’s pillow.

“No, I don’t,” Mac sighed. “We just. We like the same things. That’s all. That’s why we’re best friends.”

Charlie rolled over, his back to Mac, who winced. He shouldn’t have used the word “best”. He’d known Dennis for 3 years. Charlie, he’d known his whole life. 

“But you don’t like the same things. We like the same things, Mac--” 

Dennis appeared in the doorway of Mac’s room. He was wearing jeans and some silvery v-neck that really should’ve looked more ridiculous than it did.

“Hey-o! Mac! You ready?” He did an excited little dance, bouncing his shoulders and wiggling his hips. He stopped when he noticed Charlie watching from the bed.

“Oh. Hi, Charlie. You still sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Nah, man. I got everything I need right here.” Charlie pulled out a can of spray paint from under the bed, huffed it, and smiled at them goofily. 

“Whatever.” Dennis scoffed. “You’re just jello.”

Charlie inhaled deeply again, and forgot Dennis was in the room, let alone speaking directly to him. 

“Yeah,” Dennis told no one. “You’re lime green jello and you don’t even know it.” He looked over for a reaction and frowned when he didn’t get one. 

“Uh, let’s go, Mac.” 

Mac stayed back for a second to warn Charlie not to get any of the paint on his bed, then stumbled down the stairs two at a time to catch up with Dennis. 

Outside, Dennis opened the door to his beloved Range Rover. Mac hopped in.

“It smelled like thai food back in there,” said Dennis, buckling his seatbelt. “You guys banging?” 

“No!” Mac said, indignant, and looked over to see Dennis laugh and stick his tongue out at him before putting the key in the ignition. 

-

The Nutty Pear was one of the only decent joints around, a little out of the way from Mac’s, but usually worth the trip, especially if there were bands playing. It was an all ages show, but since they wanted to drink, Dennis had gotten Mac his very own fake ID for the night. Mac examined it in the car.

“This guy looks nothing like me.”

“It doesn’t matter. God, I can’t wait to finally get shitfaced.”

“I think he’s, like, a completely different race from me, Dennis.”

“Who cares?” Dennis jerkily maneuvered the car into another lane. 

“I care! They’re gonna be able to tell I’m not Indian.”

“He’s Pakistani, bro. That’s racist.” He swerved into a meager looking parking lot. “We’re here.” 

“Dennis, I don’t know--“

“Whoa.” Dennis set his hand on Mac’s shoulder, gently rubbing the muscle there. “Relax, dude. It’ll be fine.” 

-

The first part of the night went off without a hitch. They got in fine, just as Dennis promised. The Pear was packed with people. No one was really carding, which Mac would usually be concerned about, but he was thankful it saved him from attempting to do the accent he practiced in the car. 

As they walked in, they passed a girl from school, who tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand and waved at them with the other. “Hey, Dennis.” she said. “You look good.” 

Dennis scrunched up his nose and kept walking. He leaned over and blew in Mac’s ear before whispering, “She thinks she’s cute enough for me.” He rolled his eyes. “Joke.” 

Mac elbowed Dennis and pointed to the corner of the bar. “Hey, Aleena’s here. The foreign exchange chick.” Dennis got on his toes to peer over at her.

“Oh, yeah? She’s cool. She was the one who gave me your ID, actually. Think it was her brother’s or something.” 

Maureen Ponderosa sauntered up to them. “Dennis Reynolds.” 

“Maureen Ponderosa. Bill here, too?” Dennis asked, his head bobbing as he surveyed the crowd.

Maureen smiled serenely. “Yeah. Think he’s chatting up some sophomore.” Her eyes darted down to their hands. 

“I notice you don’t have the scarlet letters.” she said, holding up the back of her hands to reveal the two permanent marker red “X”s that told the bartender she was a minor.

“Nope.” said Dennis, popping the “p”.

“So you wouldn’t mind buying me a drink?” Maureen asked.

She threw back her shoulders as if her back hurt, but since she wasn’t in physical therapy with Dee, Mac figured she was just trying to show off her tits. He watched them as Maureen fluttered her eyelashes at Dennis in a way that was supposed to look sultry, but missed the mark, in Mac’s opinion. Annoyed, Mac pointed past her, towards the little makeshift stage. 

“Hey, guys, look. The bands here.” 

The band was a group of skinny punk girls, each with their own messy cropped hair and raccoon eyeliner eyes. The lead singer’s eyes were strangely familiar, even under the spooky makeup, and for a moment she stared right at Mac. 

Dennis moved from Maureen to face his actual target objective for the night. “You can totally tell they’re from the city.” he said, excited.

Maureen scoffed. “Yeah, because they look like a bunch of lezzies.” 

“You would think that, Maureen.” Dennis shot back. “I wish we had more girls like that down here in Heaven.”

Mac nodded weakly. “They look cool.” He watched the bassist pull out her Fender.

“I think they need two groupies.” Dennis waggled his eyebrows at Mac, who hesitated.

“Don’t be so J.V., Mcdonald. They’re just girls. Morsels. We hold all the power, you know that.” 

Dennis fixed him with an intense stare. It had a newfound edge that Mac hadn’t seen before, and it startled him enough that barely even noticed as Dennis grabbed Mac’s hand and dragged him to center stage.

Dennis greeted the lead singer. “Hi.” He was still holding Mac’s hand. 

With a quick once-over, Mac could assess that the girl really wasn’t as hot as he was led to believe, but it didn’t deter his friend. 

“The Pecan Sandies, right? I’m Dennis. And... this is my friend.” He nodded in Mac’s direction. “We heard you guys are really good at playing your instruments. For girls, anyway.” 

The singer coughed. Her voice was scratchy, sarcastic. “I hope we can live up to such high praise.” 

Mac peered at the band curiously. “Hey, sorry,” he interrupted, “but... why are you guys playing all the way out in Skull-Schuylkill Haven? Aren’t you from Philly?” 

The singer coughed again. Mac hoped she wouldn’t get him sick. “Well, we think it’s important to connect with our fans,” she turned and held Dennis’s gaze, “... in the shitty areas, too.” 

“That’s amazing.” Dennis said, nodding. “Can I get you a drink? We have this awesome american flag shooter, it’s red, white, and blue, but you have to drink it fast or it turns brownish--“

“Sure, whatever. Get me two.”

Dennis hurried off towards the bar, while Mac held their place by the stage. He absently noticed the girls in the band whispering to each other, and moved to stand halfway hidden behind a wooden beam, trying to look disinterested.

“That’s him.” the lead singer said, matter of fact. She wasn’t coughing anymore. 

“What, that faggot?” Another band member, gesturing in Mac’s direction. Mac pretended to examine the ceiling. 

“No, that one.” She pointed at Dennis. “The guy that just left to get me a drink.” 

The other band member looked conflicted. “And are you absolutely sure he’s a--” 

“Yes! I grew up here, remember? That guy is definitely a virgin.” 

Mac almost snorted before he remembered he was supposed to be eavesdropping. Dennis, a virgin? Not a chance. He rushed off to the bar, chuckling to himself. 

“Oh, hey, Mac.” Dennis said, holding the two american themed shots. They were starting to turn a bit brownish. 

“The lead singer wants me.” said Dennis, victoriously. He frowned. “Hey, why are you laughing?” 

“They think you’re a virgin, dude.” Mac wheezed. “I heard them talking.” 

“What?” Dennis said, distressed. “I-I’m not even a backdoor-virgin anymore, thanks to Chrissy Orlando!” He was outraged. “That hurts, by the way. I couldn’t even go to Flags the next day. I had to sit on a bag of frozen peas.” 

Mac groaned. “Jesus christ.” 

Feedback pierced the air. “Goooood evening, Skull Kill!” roared the lead singer.

“Schoo-kill!” an older audience member corrected. 

“You’re goddamn right!” The singer winked. At the middle of the crowd, at Dennis, who elbowed Mac and raised his eyebrows.

“This one’s called ‘Through the Trees’.”

The band launched into a stereotypical indie song with some punk stylings. Dennis’s gaze didn’t leave center stage, and Mac’s gaze didn’t leave Dennis. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Mac noticed something flickering. He turned to see a lick of light spark from a frayed wire, watched it grow and dance along a curtain. He saw it inch nearer, towards the stage. The band didn’t notice. 

They didn’t stop playing. Even as the flicker became a flame and began to climb up towards the ceiling, they continued to pluck at their power chords and stomp their feet to the rhythm. 

The fire roared, exploded, and the patrons of the bar panicked, all at once. People screamed, tried to run. The sparse exits were stampeded with locals falling over each other attempting to escape, and the blaze just kept growing and growing. It sent dust and smoke into the air as it gradually knocked down the beams in the roof. A woman close to Mac yelled as her hair caught.

Dennis was still staring at the band. 

The punk girls had noticed the flames in their face, of course they had. But they didn’t seem concerned, especially the lead. 

She seemed collected. 

Mac heard more screams, louder. The sound of a bone crunching. 

Still the singer seemed composed. She… smiled. At Mac.

Mac felt delayed panic, spreading itchy and hot in his chest like the flames wracking the building. They needed to move. Now. He grabbed Dennis’s arm and tried to pull him out of his dreamlike state, not daring to look back at the chaos.

“Den! I know where we can go. Come on!” 

Dennis allowed himself to be dragged, but still wasn’t aware of his surroundings. Mac wouldn’t have believed he was even awake if it wasn’t for his eyes: glossy, blue, wide open.

Mac pushed Dennis into the bathroom and helped hoist him up out of the window. Dennis obeyed Mac’s orders as if in a daze, and hauled himself out. Then, after some more prompting from Mac, he offered a hand to help Mac through the window, as well. They coughed on smoke and bile and escaped. 

As they collapsed onto the pavement outside, Mac could still hear the sound of others trapped inside the bar. If he turned around, he would see it firsthand. An older woman trying to put out her flaming arm, her balding husband trying to push past her before passing out and letting the flames take him. 

Mac couldn’t turn around, he couldn’t see it, he had to focus on getting them away. He dragged them further into the parking lot, away from the ruins. 

Dennis collapsed into Mac’s arms, struggling to breathe, and Mac held him close, sweeping his hair off of his face. 

The bar smouldered behind them in the distance like a fucked up sunset. 

Behind them, the girl, the lead singer, (what the fuck was her name?), clapped a hand on Dennis’s shoulder.

“Thank god you guys are alright.” she intoned, flatly. "I’ve been looking everywhere.” She took a slow sip from a bottle of vodka. 

She handed it to Dennis. “Here, it’ll help with the shock.” 

He took a drink absently, staring ahead like he saw a ghost. Mac watched a bead of sweat roll down his face. 

“It’s waaaay too dangerous out here.” the girl said. “Let’s go to my van.” 

Mac boggled. “What?”

“I’m scared, I’m in survival mode, and I think we need to get this one,” she pointed a finger at Dennis. “Into my van.” 

“What?” Mac cried out. “No!” 

“No, Mac, I wanna see... I wanna see the van.” Dennis slurred.

Mac pulled on his arm. “Dennis. We brought the Range Rover, remember? Let’s just get out of here!”

“Mac, just. Just shut up. I’m going to do what I came here for, and that means… van.” 

He yanked his arm out of Mac’s grip and followed the singer. Mac watched him, helpless.

The bar gave one last burst behind them. Ashes rained down, coating Mac’s hair. He watched Dennis go, feeling the beginnings of something awful churn inside him.

-

Mac stumbled away from the bar, what was left of it. Dennis still had the keys to the car, so Mac was stuck on foot. He ran blindly towards the direction of his house, and somehow, fueled by adrenaline, he made it home, covered in soot and breathing hard. He shuffled up to his room, expecting to see Charlie still there, dead asleep and smearing spray paint all over Mac’s pillowcases. But he was gone. Mac’s hands shook as he reached for his landline.

“Hmm...Mac? What is it?” Charlie answered, sounding groggy. 

“Thank god. You’re at home?”

Mac heard Charlie yawn on the other end. “Yeah. I left your place hours ago. What’s up?”

“Dennis is gone. He ran off with that rock band. And The Pear burned down. Like, to the ground, dude.”

“Wait, really? And you’re okay?” 

“Yeah,” said Mac, not entirely convinced. “There was this huge stampede, and all the people who fainted got run over. You could hear the bones breaking. And the smell--” 

Mac broke off, unsure how to finish. He took a deep breath. 

“Dennis is still gone. He’s in their weird tour van with the windows all blacked out and we-- we have to go find him.”

Charlie’s reply was shrill. “Dennis? Who cares about Dennis?”

Charlie went quiet for a second, and as Mac brought the phone closer to his ear, he faintly heard him hyperventilating. 

Impatiently, Mac growled, “He’s missing, we have to—“

“He’s just out banging that rocker chick, he’s fine!” Charlie whispered back. 

Then he let out a sudden cry that made Mac wince and fumble with the phone. 

“People just burned to death, Mac! Oh my god. Fuck.” 

Mac heard the doorbell ring, distracting him from Charlie’s hysteria. “Oh, cheese and crepes. Someone’s here. Stay on the phone, alright, man?” 

“Yeah, fine.”

Mac crept down the stairs slowly, felt the eerie sensation of shadows watching him as he tiptoed through the entryway and opened the front door. No one was there. Mac stepped out onto the porch, just to make sure. He felt the cool night air hit his cheeks. Nothing and nobody. He turned to head back to his room, screamed, and dropped the phone. 

Dennis stood in the dim hallway. He was sickly pale and smiling, a harsh, twisted smile. His clothes were torn to bits and seemed to be soaked through with blood. His eyes were bruised and sunken, mascara smeared in thin trails down his cheeks. He looked horrifying. Ghoulish. 

“Den?” Mac whispered.

Dennis smiled wider, feral, exposing blood-tinged teeth. Mac vaguely registered hearing a dial tone from his phone where it lay discarded on the floor. 

“D-Den?” Mac tried again, trembling. “What happened?”

Dennis didn’t answer, just stood there grinning, staring directly at Mac. The silence stretched until it was unbearable. He could hear each individual drop of blood from Dennis’s clothes drip onto the kitchen tile. 

The tension shattered as Dennis turned away and started rooting carelessly through Mac’s cabinets. This, at least, was all too familiar, and Mac rolled his eyes behind Dennis’s back as he chanced a step closer. 

“We’re out of Thin Mints, man. I only bought the one box.” 

Dennis spun around, tilting his head. In the flat overhead lighting, Mac could see the sticky red blood reflected on his lips. Oh, right. Mac stared dumbly ahead. Not so familiar. 

Abruptly, Dennis let out a banshee-like screech at the top of his lungs, then proceeded to gag and vomit all over himself. Disgusting, evil-looking black bile mingled with the deep red blood already on him. It splashed onto Mac, who staggered backwards into the hallway in shock. 

Dennis stumbled forward, and threw up the black substance again, onto the floor this time. Mac watched in horror as the bile grew hundreds of tiny little spines, like porcupine needles, and saw it spurt as if it were alive. It moved by itself, oozing and creeping into all corners of his minuscule kitchen. 

Mac blindly grabbed for Dennis’s shoulders, and lost his balance when Dennis fell to his knees, laughing hysterically. He listened to Dennis’s insane laughter, heard his own racing heartbeat harmonize with the noise. He was wondering if he should try to run when Dennis’s skinny arms clutched at him and threw him against the wall with superhuman force, effectively pinning him in place. 

Slowly, Dennis moved to brush his cheek against Mac’s, his mouth almost against his earlobe. Dennis’s hand carefully, tantalizingly, swept up Mac’s torso, creeping up his ribs one by one. His mouth latched onto Mac’s jaw and steadily moved down Mac’s neck, his blood stained teeth gently scraping his skin, before stopping to suck on his pulse point. Mac jerked and panted against his unmoveable weight, terrified and turned on, not sure how to break away, or if he even wanted to. Blood swished in his ringing ears, and blood was all he could smell.

Dennis pulled back, still crowding him against the wall. One of his hands moved from resting on Mac’s chest to gently toying with his hair, the black bile still splattered on his grotesque face. Mac felt hot, blood-drenched air on his face. 

“Are you scared?” Dennis whispered. 

Mac nodded, his whole body vibrating.

Dennis examined him for a moment, eyes glazed over. He shoved Mac away, and his knees hit the hard floor, like Dennis moments before. And without warning, Dennis bolted out of the kitchen, down the hallway, into the street. Mac stared out the open front door, still on his knees. 

—

The next day, Mac sat in his usual spot in English class, leaning on his hand and trying not to doze off. It had been the same thing all day, kids around him whispering back and forth, threatening to give him a headache. He tried to block out the ongoing conversations. Unsuccessfully.

“--I heard Mac and Dennis were there and had to fight their way out with an RPG--”

“--look at him, he’s not even moving--” 

“--it’s just like my uncle, the one with PTSD--“

Mac slammed his head on his desk and tried to hold in a groan. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” 

Mac looked up. He blinked, once, twice. It was Dennis, pouting down at him with mocking eyes. He was wearing a blue button down and looking remarkably unscathed. It was as if nothing the night before ever happened. In fact, he looked better than ever. Almost like he was glowing.

“Shove over, Ronnie!” Dennis smiled and playfully knocked shoulders with Mac as he took his seat, not noticing Mac’s shock. 

“You’re… You’re alright.”

“Duh.” His smile dropped. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Mac stared. “Last night? My house? You showed up looking like you got shot or something.” 

Or something. Mac remembered it all in vivid detail. The blood, the bile, the unearthly screaming…

“You do have a tendency to overreact. Remember that time, with Charlie, when you thought there was an earthquake but it was just two guys with a ghetto blaster?”

Mac tuned him out. “People died, Dennis. It’s all over the news, dude. National news.”

Dennis hummed, unconcerned. “Anyone we know?”

“We know everyone!” 

“Sucks to be them, I guess.” Dennis shrugged and started drumming his fingers on the wooden desk, gazing at the clock.

‘What is wrong with you?” Mac snapped.

“What’s wrong with you?” He narrowed his eyes. “I mean, besides the obvious surface flaws.” 

Mac stared off into space, dumbfounded. He was up all night trying to scrub Dennis’s puke off the linoleum before his mom got home from the night shift. There was a hickey on his neck. Ash in his hair. Dried blood under his nails. There’s no way it wasn’t real.

“Shit.” he whispered to himself.

“Please,” said Dennis, “don’t talk to yourself. It’s one of your more freakish Mac behaviors, and makes us both look like total gaylords.”

Mac desperately shoved his mucky fingernails in his face, and Dennis batted his hands away.

“Ew, bro, you need a mani, bad. You should find a Chinese chick to buff your... situation.”

Mac was saved from having to reply as their teacher walked into the classroom, a somber expression plastered on his face. 

“This is a dark...dark… dark day for Schuylkill Haven.”

The teacher was silent for a beat, and Mac followed his gaze to see Maureen, openly sobbing in the back of the class. Then, he turned to Dennis, who was unsuccessfully trying to rein in his laughter.

“We lost eight precious students, including Bill Ponderosa,” he threw a consoling look in Maureen’s direction, which only made her cry harder, “Aleena, our foreign exchange student, and our beloved librarian, Mrs. Klinsky.”

“No way! Klinsky ate shit?” Dennis turned to Mac with a smug grin. Mac shushed him and swiped at his arm.

“Now more than ever,” their teacher continued, “we must put away your teenage concerns about who’s the ‘cool dude’... or who’s a whore…”

He stopped to blow his nose loudly. Many other students were sniffling as well, some leaning on each other for comfort. Dennis tapped his nails on the desk impatiently.

“We cannot let that damn fire win.”

Dennis smirked. “Looks like it already has.”

-

Mac slung on his backpack and hurried up to Charlie, who was shoving a block of cheese into his locker.

“Wanna hang out today? My plans with Pete kiiiinda fell through.” said Charlie.

“Well, the guy died, so yeah, I bet they did.” Mac snarked back.

“Exactly.” Charlie said, not picking up on Mac’s tone. “It’s surreal, right? When just one person dies here it’s like time stops. And now…” He trailed off and looked away. 

Mac and Charlie started their typical stroll down the hall. Mac looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. They weren’t, of course. Things hadn’t changed that much.

“Charlie, I need to tell you something weird. It’s about Dennis.”

“What is it?”

“You know how--last night--someone came to my house? It was Dennis. But he looked… weird, like he’d been all beaten up or something. And then he barfed up this disgusting prickly stuff that looked like...” he paused, considering. “Like roadkill and sewing needles mixed together.”

Charlie made a face. “Yuck. Maybe he just accidentally ate a bunch of apple seeds or something—“

“No, man! This was like… evil.”

“You feeling okay? Maybe you want to talk to the school shrink. And I’m not even saying that to be a dillhole, I--”

“Charlie! I don’t tell whoppers, and I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were, dude! All of this is weird, you know? You probably feel…”

Mac turned to him. “Discombobulated?” 

Charlie wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar word. “Well, you know... Fucked up.”

They were about to part ways when Dee approached Mac, her back brace squeaking even louder than normal. Her blonde hair was straightened severely, and she wore purple eyeshadow that made it look like she had two black eyes. 

“Hey, Mac.” She nodded in Charlie’s direction. “Dirtgrub.”

Mac furrowed his brow. “Um, hi, Dee.” 

Mac didn’t spend time with Dee very often. She used to tag along with him, Dennis, and Charlie in the summer, but lately she stuck to her own crowd. Namely, the crippled kids, gay kids who wore guyliner, and acned band geeks that were vaguely afraid of her. They had a few classes together, but rarely spoke. Mac hadn’t thought much of it, he had always seen Dee as just an annoying extension of Dennis. 

“Heard you were with my brother last night. In the fiery trenches.” She rolled her eyes.

Mac almost laughed. It seemed like both of the Reynolds twins couldn’t care less about the tragedy that was effectively tormenting the entire town. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, glad you didn’t die.” said Dee, with a sincerity that was rare for her.

Mac frowned, feeling thrown off. “Thanks.”

She gave him a halfhearted salute and sauntered off, still squeaking like the goddamn Tin Man. Mac and Charlie watched her leave, perplexed.

“Since when have you been friends with Dee?”

“I’m not.” Mac said, wondering how true it was. “She does my math homework. Cricket does hers. It’s called a hierarchy.”

“Well, you do my math homework, does that mean I’m higher up than you?”

“No, it means I don’t want you to flunk out, because then I’d be the one eating spiders for Adriano.”

He shuddered as Charlie glared at him.

“You say that as if--”

A sudden idea occurred to Mac. “Hold that thought, Charlie. Or, actually, don’t.” He raced off in the direction that Dee had gone, abandoning Charlie in the hall.

He spotted her hanging out on the stairs, and called out. “Hey-o! Dee!” 

Dee looked up, and Mac put his hands on his hips. “Look, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, did Dennis seem… weird last night? Different at all?” 

Dee was unimpressed. “How would I know?” 

“Because you’re his sister?” 

“Dennis didn’t come home last night.” she said, glaring at Mac like he was wasting her time. Her usual defenses were back up, making their brief interaction from only moments ago feel like a weird dream.

Dee stretched, as much as the brace would allow. “Look, I gotta run. I’m supposed to go to Bill’s memorial with Magoo.”

After a quick wave goodbye, Mac began his own walk home, feeling more confused than ever.

When he made his way inside, his mom was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. He coughed and hoisted his backpack off his shoulders. 

“Hey, mom. Didn’t know you’d be awake.” 

She grunted.

“Bad dream?” Mac asked, leaning down to pet Poppins at his feet. 

His mom grunted again, an affirmative.

“What was it about?”

Mac’s mom shifted her weight, and lowly replied, “Some people were trying to nail you to a tree. Hammers and shit. Like JC.” Her cigarette hand gestured to a cross hanging on the wall. 

“But you didn’t let them get me, right?” Mac asked, earnest. “Mom?”

She sniffed and didn’t answer. Mac heard his phone ring and skipped up the stairs to his room, Poppins at his heels.

It was Dennis calling. Mac sat on the edge of his bed and pressed answer. 

“Hell--“

“I feel so scrumptious!” Dennis exclaimed. 

“Goody for you.” Mac leaned down to scratch under Poppins’ chin. 

“You know when you kiss a hot girl for the first time and it feels like your entire body’s on vibrate?”

Mac’s mind flashed to that night in his kitchen, Dennis holding him against the wall as he pressed his open mouth onto his neck. Mac’s whole body buzzing for hours afterward as he tried to clean the kitchen floor. 

“Sure.” he said. 

“It’s that good.” Dennis declared.

“That’s nice. I’m still kind of depressed about, you know, the giant smoldering funeral pyre in the middle of town?”

“Move on dot org, Mac! It’s over. Life’s too short to be moping over some white-trash pig roast.” 

Mac grimaced. “That’s sweet, Den.” 

“I tell it like it is. Besides! You should be happy for me. I’m having the best day since, like, Jesus invented the calendar.” 

“Jesus didn’t invent the calendar.” Mac was pretty sure, anyway. 

“Whatever.” 

Mac heard Dennis giggle on the other end as the phone beeped at him. “Other line, hold on.”

“So blow it off.” 

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“Ugh, whatever. I’m crossing you out.” 

Ignoring Dennis, Mac clicked over. 

“I need to see you right now.” Charlie sounded panicked, out of breath, and there were loud noises covering his voice. 

“I can barely hear you, dude.” 

“Uncle Jack is fucking with my piano. Knock it off, Jack!”

Mac heard the voice of Charlie’s creepy uncle say “You knock it off!”, and then the dissonant clang of something being thrown at a piano. He shook his head and waited patiently. 

Charlie returned to the phone and said, “Can you meet at Bubeck Park in ten?”

“Fifteen.” Mac answered, and clicked back to Dennis.

“Den? I have to go.” 

“I am a golden God.” Dennis said.

“Uh, okay? Did you hear me? I have to go meet Charlie at Bubeck.”

“You know, Charlie is looking really cute to me lately.” Dennis joked. “So, tell me, is he packing some serious pubic inches? What’s the story down there?” 

“Gotta go.” Mac said quickly, and hung up.

—

Mac dropped down next to Charlie on their usual meeting bench. “What’s going on?” 

“I gotta show you something. I was in the woods, and I saw something—“

“Were you high again?” Mac raised a brow skeptically.

“Maaaybe, but that’s not—Just come with me.” He jumped up suddenly, heading in the direction of the woods. Mac followed close behind.

They wandered for a while, Charlie getting temporarily lost on the way to... whatever it was he wanted Mac to see. Mac’s ongoing complaints about his sore feet and needing to know they were going to go on a fucking hike so he could prepare adequate footwear were ignored, rather callously, in Mac’s opinion. 

Charlie stopped, holding out an arm. “It’s around here, I’m sure of it.“

“What is? What are you—“ 

Mac’s voice cracked and broke off as he stepped further into a clearing. 

“It’s—“

“Maureen. Yeah.” Charlie said, peeping over Mac’s shoulder. 

It was Maureen, but only barely. Her entire torso was torn open, exposing her guts, blood and viscera spilled out onto the forest ground. Intestines were strewn around the scene like morbid party streamers. Maggots had already started to feast on her corpse. And each of her limbs were ripped clean off, laying neatly at her sides. Mac held his nose to block out the intense stench of blood and death and decay. 

Mac spoke slowly, the words coming out nasally because of his blocked nose. “Do you think that animals got to her, or…” 

“No way.” Charlie said, and leaned over the mutilated body. “See that?”

Mac really did not want to “see that”, but he peeked at where Charlie’s shaking finger pointed.

“Teeth marks?” Mac whispered. 

“Human teeth marks.” Charlie corrected, eyes boring into Mac’s. 

Mac tried to laugh. “Shut up, you don’t know that.” 

Rolling his eyes, Charlie put his hand in his mouth and bit down, hard. He held the mark up to Maureen’s neck for Mac to compare, and raised his eyebrows. See?

Mac gripped Charlie’s shoulders and pulled him away from Maureen. “Okay, fine, maybe you do know that. But who.. who would...” 

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “Fuck, man, I don’t know! But it must’ve happened after school. It’s all so… fresh.” He shuddered. 

“Well, it can’t be a coincidence.” Mac said.

“What are you talking about, bro?”

“Fiery death trap last night, then a cannibal freaktard takes out the remaining Ponderosa? Come on!”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s gotta be over now, right?” Charlie said, eyes lingering on one of Maureen’s arms, uniformly laid out. “It can’t get any worse.” 

As if on cue, they heard the sirens. 

Mac’s eyes widened. “Shit.” 

“Oh, God. Run for it?” 

Mac nodded, and they dashed out of the woods.

They managed to make it back to the main road, deciding to take the most direct route back to Mac’s. Charlie soundlessly pointed out flashing lights straight ahead, and they exchanged nervous glances. 

“That’s the Ponderosa house.” said Charlie. He started compulsively straightening out his shirt, and Mac put his hands over Charlie’s to still them. 

“Yeah. It’s fine. Just act natural, alright?”

Charlie tested a smile in Mac’s direction, who bursts out laughing. 

“That’s natural? You look like a zombie robot, dude.” 

Charlie swatted at him and they kept walking.

“At least I don’t look like that.” he whispered in Mac’s ear.

Mac swiveled to see Mrs. Ponderosa, staring out her front window. She was completely catatonic, looking out like a statue. Mac met her gaze, but she didn’t notice, just stared right through him. He shook himself and kept walking, disturbed. 

“You’re shivering.” Charlie said, amused. 

“I’m cold, Charlie. It’s very cold out here.”

“Want my jacket?” 

“Yeah, fine.” He snatched the ratty piece of clothing from Charlie and pulled it on, willfully ignoring the small blood stain from where Charlie hovered too close to the body.

The cops littered around the Ponderosa residence didn’t give them a second glance, for once, and Mac let out a sigh of relief. 

Charlie stayed the night without being invited. They smoked the rest of Mac’s weed, watched a B-movie on TV. And at night Charlie hogged all the blankets, like old times. 

—

The next few weeks, their town was famous. The town’s only bar had burnt to the ground, and there was a murderer still at large. Bill, their star linebacker, was dust, and his sister was somebody’s snack pack. The whole country got a huge tragedy boner for Schuylkill Haven, and the press couldn’t get enough of their world of shit. 

The days went by, and everyone at school was still too wrecked by everything to enjoy themselves.

(Everyone except Dennis, who marched along in brilliant color, sticking out like a swimming pool in a desert amongst the black and white landscape of mourners.) 

But slowly, people were healing. Learning to laugh and smile again. Mac, like Charlie, figured things could only get better. 

He was a fucking idiot.

—

It was late October, getting colder with each day. Portions of the woods were still blocked off with yellow tape, the police still nowhere closer to making an arrest.

Mac sat at the same spot in class, Dennis at his left-hand side. A mirror of the day after the initial tragedy, but this time, Dennis looked horrible. He was haggard, unusually thin, and easily pissed off.

Mac fidgeted in his seat while their teacher made an announcement. (His true calling, announcement making was. Teaching was just something to pay the bills. )

“As you all know, this is the one month anniversary of the fire at The Nutty Pear, and the murder of Maureen Ponderosa.” 

“Boring!” Dennis hissed, rolling his eyes.

The teacher glowered at him. “As I was saying, Dennis... and Mac...“ Mac rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus.

“...finally have some good news to share with you all. The members of the rock n’ roll group, The Pecan Sandies, have decided to extend a helping hand to our community. As you all know, their song, ‘Through the Trees’, has become our town’s unofficial anthem of unity and healing.” 

Mac knew. God, he knew. It was like he couldn’t even take a shit without hearing that goddamn song. It was constantly on local radio, it was performed at candlelight vigils— silent candlelight vigils—, and constantly hummed in the halls. 

Every time Mac heard the song, it brought him right back to the fire, the flames twisting around the stage, the screaming and agony, the desperation he felt seeing Dennis’s blank stare as he boarded the band’s van. Mac knew every lyric by heart. 

“The Pecan Sandies have decided to release the song as a benefit single. 3% of the profits will go to local families who have been affected by the loss.”

The class happily murmured to each other, buzzing with excitement. Mac grit his teeth and stood up. 

“What about the other 97%?” 

The whole class turned to look at him. Dennis smirked and covered his mouth with his hand.

“Excuse me?” said their teacher.

“The other 97%.” Mac continued. “I mean, that’s just fucked, right?”

He looked around. Gail the Snail, wearing an actual Pecan Sandies t-shirt (and holy fuck, was it homemade?), growled at him. “The Pecan Sandies are American heroes.”

“No, they’re really not.” Mac shot back. “I was there, Gail. They didn’t help anybody escape the fire. I don’t even know how that rumor got started.”

Gail was outraged. “Rumor? Rumor? It’s true! It’s on the internet!”

“No one would even know who they were if they hadn’t been playing that night!” Mac sat back down. “They’re using us.”

“Take that back, Ronald Mcdonald! We need them now more than ever.” Gail looked rabid, her face distorted into an ugly snarl. The bell rang, and Mac got the hell out of there, still fuming. 

He walked with Dennis to their respective lockers. 

“I’m just so sick of that song, dude.” 

Dennis nodded, staring off at a point over Mac’s shoulder. “Yeah, it’s really poorly produced.” he said. “Could the bass be any lower in the mix?” 

Mac gathered his books and slammed his locker door shut, peering at Dennis curiously. “No offense, but you look terrible.” 

“Thanks.” said Dennis.

“Is everything okay?” 

Dennis let out a dramatic groan. “No! I feel like dogshit. My skin is breaking out and my hair is all dull and lifeless.” He pulled a face. “Oh god, it’s like I’m one of the normal guys.” 

“Well, you’re acting like you’re PMS-ing or something.” 

“Newsflash, Mac. PMS isn’t real. It’s something girls made up as an excuse for being crazy fucking bitches.”

“Oh.” 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dennis sighed. “It’s just wearing off or something.”

“Wait, what’s wearing off?”

The squeaks signalling Dee’s arrival interrupted them. “Hey guys.”

“Oh, hey, Dee.” Dennis said, yawning. “Can I borrow your English homework again? I forgot to read Hamlet. Is he going to fuck his mom?” 

Dee ignored him. “I actually wanted to ask Mac something.” she said. 

Dennis narrowed his eyes but let her continue. She turned to Mac. “I thought we could go to a movie or something? There’s a midnight showing of Rocky Horror next weekend.” 

Dennis clicked his tongue. “I don’t like boxing movies.” 

“It’s not a fucking boxing movie. And I’m not even asking—“ Dee shook her head. “Fuck it. Forget I said anything, Mac.” 

She stormed off and Dennis turned to face Mac. “That was random. Was she trying to ask you out? Because you can do better.” 

“Gross, dude. She wasn’t trying to ask me out. We’re friends, sort of.”

“Why the fuck would you be friends with Dee?”

Mac squirmed under Dennis’s gaze. “She’s not that bad.” he said. “I actually think she’s pretty cool.” 

Dennis considered this. “Dee! Wait up!” 

He jogged after her. Like always, Mac followed. 

“What do you want, dickweed?”

“Look, why don’t you just join me and Mac for movie night? We got Splash on video. It’s about Tom Hanks and this girl that’s half sushi. I guess she has sex with him through her blowhole or something.”

“Yeah, okay.” she said, suspicious.

“I’ll give you Mac’s address on our walk home.” Dennis said. He waved at Mac and took off with Dee.

Charlie came up behind Mac and bumped their shoulders together. “Talking to your pal Dee again?” 

“Sort of. Dennis invited her to movie night.” 

“That’s weird.”

Mac shrugged. He could admit to that. Dennis was usually very strict about movie night. Not even Charlie was invited.

—

Later that night, Mac paced in his bedroom. The clock read 9:37, over an hour past the time the Reynolds twins were originally supposed to come over. It was exactly one month since Maureen’s murder. And after he and Charlie has seen her carnage in the woods firsthand, he couldn’t help feeling on edge. 

As he paced, he heard a high pitched chirping sound. He hesitated. 

“What is that?” Mac whispered to himself. 

It chirped again, louder. It was coming from inside the house, somewhere isolated. The attic?

Mac made his way into the hallway and tugged down the ladder. He pulled himself up into the tight space and looked around for the source of the sound. It chirped again, excruciatingly loud this time. His ears rang and his vision blurred, and he nearly toppled over from the intensity of it. 

A faint noise, a voice, echoed in the enclosed space. 

Mac shot up, and hit his head on the ceiling beams.

“Who’s there?” he called out, rubbing his skull.

Mac paused to listen, and heard it again, a desperate, ragged voice, whispering. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless...

He fumbled around in a cardboard box until his hands found a flashlight. 

He clicked it on. But all he could see was--

Blood. Blood was oozing from the attic walls, from the floorboards. It seeped out of the floorboards and gushed over his feet, creeping into a hole in his left sock. He twisted away, stepping backwards right into something sharp. Mac yelped and looked down, seeing the spiny black bile from that night in his kitchen. He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt for everything to disappear. 

It did. And in its place, in the corner of the attic, a vision of Dennis himself, his eyes wild and fogged over. 

In his hands, a limp body on the verge of death, thrashing around and screeching as Dennis tore into it. Into her. 

Her skull was bashed in, her stomach ripped apart, but she was unmistakable.

It was Dee. 

Mac saw Dennis scoop her blood into his mouth with cupped hands. His head tilted, slowly, up, up, up, finally meeting Mac’s eyes. He stared at Mac as he licked viscera from his lips. 

Mac screamed, and closed his eyes. And once again, when he opened them, the vision was gone, and there was nothing, just the erratic sound of his heartbeat, and his own heavy breathing. 

—

Mac climbed out of the dingy attic, and made his way down to the kitchen. Overwhelmed with the need to run as far from the attic as possible, he snatched the keys to his mom’s Kia off the table and sprinted outside. 

Trembling, he got into the car and started the ignition. The car darted forward wildly, swerving into the empty road. With fumbling, shaky hands, Mac turned the knob on the radio. A song came blasting through the speakers— it was ‘Through the Trees’, by The Pecan Sandies. Of course. Mac let out a strangled, watery laugh and swung a harsh left. 

He drove recklessly, unsure of where he wanted to end up, trying to focus only on the endless expanse of night, the leather of the steering wheel, the tree lined street. Then, something emerged from the shadows. 

It was creeping towards the car like an animal, pale as a ghost, lower half covered in blood. And it looked exactly like the apparition in Mac’s attic. Dennis smiled at him, toothy and deranged. Mac accelerated without a second thought.

Dennis slammed against his windshield, smiling at Mac even as he was punctured by the shattered glass, even as his body rolled off the car and tumbled into the street. 

Panicked, Mac swerved back around, heading back for his house, abandoning Dennis on the side of the road. 

Mac put the car in park and raced up his porch steps, hands shaking as he grappled with the doorknob. Trying to control his shallow breath, he trudged up to his dark bedroom, and crawled straight into his bed. Whatever that thing that looked like Dennis was, it was just a hallucination, or, or... paranoia, or something. He could sleep it off. 

“Hey, Vinegar.” 

Mac screamed at the top of his lungs and leapt out of bed. He switched on the bedside lamp and saw Dennis, settled in on the left side of Mac’s bed. He was freshly clean, no blood or glass to be seen. He smiled, charming and easy. 

“Enough with the screaming! You’re such a cliche.” 

“Get! Out!” Mac huffed.

Dennis smirked. “But we always share your bed when we have slumber parties!” 

Mac stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m not gonna bite you.” said Dennis, crawling towards him.

Mac stood completely still as Dennis reached up from the bed to run his hand through Mac’s ungelled hair. He swiped his thumb under his eye, as if he could wipe away the dark circles, before softly running his hand down Mac’s cheek. Mac looked him over, trying to figure out what he was doing. His eyes paused on his chest for a long second.

“Is that my RIOT t-shirt?” Mac asked him. 

Dennis smiled, a gentle, carefree smile, nothing like the dangerous toothy grin Mac had seen, or imagined, on him earlier. In the quiet glow of the bedroom, Mac heard his own heartbeat thrum in his ears, stereo loud. Dennis brushed his thumb over the pad of Mac’s lips, and without warning, he leaned in, touching his lips softly to Mac’s. Once, twice. Practically chaste. Surprising himself, Mac was the one to deepen it, swept up in the sensation of Dennis’s tongue against his own, and the feeling of desire and trust coexisting with a spark of fear. 

Dennis broke away to lie back on his bed. Dazed, Mac followed him down. He felt Dennis under him, felt his hands grasp the back of his head and roam down his back, clutching at him and pressing him closer. 

Abruptly, Mac pulled himself away, his head swimming and hands shaking. Earlier, that wasn’t just a nightmare, or a vision. It couldn’t be. It felt too real. He didn’t know what he thought he saw in the attic, but hitting Dennis with his mom’s car? That happened. Frustrated, Mac screamed into a pillow. Dennis sat cross legged on his bed, silently observing. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Mac shouted, his lips still buzzing from kissing Dennis. He looked around the room wildly. “You-- I saw you-- I-- I saw! The car… the…I...” 

“Buh-buh-buh, slow down, tardy slip. You sound like a sped.” 

Mac pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m gonna call the police.” 

“Sure, narc me out, Ronnie the rat.” Dennis spit out, looking hurt. 

“What do you want from me?” 

“I just want to explain some things to you. Best friends don’t keep secrets, right?” He bit his lip.

Mac just nodded. 

Dennis lounged back onto Mac’s bed, settling in once again. “Remember the night of the fire?” 

“Rings a bell.” 

“Yeah, well, I got really messed up. Those chicks from Pecan Sandies? Totally evil. They’re basically like agents of Satan. But with vaginas.” 

He launched into his story.

—

Dennis had been in a daze from the fire when he decided to run off with the indie band, but it quickly cleared up once he remembered his target objective: banging the salty lead singer. 

There were two problems, unfortunately. 

One, she wasn’t as salty as he originally thought. Kind of boring, actually. Nondescript. Her raccoon eye makeup hid a very boring, nondescript, forgettable face. 

Two, Dennis was becoming increasingly certain she was batshit insane. 

As he sat in the back of the van with the rest of the band members (the lead singer in the driver's seat), he noticed all the freaky occult shit: old, worn out spell books, a fuck ton of crystals, goddamn pentagrams plastered everywhere. Dennis was definitely out of his comfort zone, here. That didn’t mean he was going to give up, though. 

He called out to the driver. “So, um, are we going to, you know, do it?” he asked, feeling awkward under the intense stares of the other band members. 

Normally, Dennis would take his time and slowly work through his System, but with smoke still in his lungs and an eternity of listening to their shitty music that he would never, ever get back, he felt like he had already demonstrated his value enough to engage physically. 

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to go somewhere private.” the lead singer called back.

Really fucking private, it seemed, because she was only taking gravel roads that Dennis had never even seen before. 

The drummer handed him a drink. “Here. Drink this. It helps your prostate.” 

Dennis shrugged and downed the drink. He felt weird almost immediately. 

“Whoa, what the fuck? Did you guys drug me?” 

None of them answered.

“Are you rapists?” he paused, then stage whispered, “Are you girl rapists?” 

“God, I hate men.” exclaimed an Indian girl-- the bassist. “Are we even sure he’s a virgin?”

Dennis’s eyes lit up. That sounded like an escape route. “Yes! That! I’m a virgin. Virgin Mary. I’ve never even done sex. I don’t know how! So, you guys should find somebody that does. Know how. Right? Guys?”

“See, Cindy?” said the singer, turning onto another deserted road. “You owe me a beer.” 

Dennis blacked out at that point, and when he came to, found himself tied up on a makeshift altar in the middle of the woods, next to the falls, the one that was really, really deep.

Slowly, his senses came back, and over the blaring of a radio, Dennis heard one of the girls, the one who drugged him, tell the frontman, “I don’t know if we should go through with this.” Dennis mentally cheered.

“Artemis.” said the singer, “Do you want to perform in shitty bars forever?” 

“No.” said Artemis.

“Do you want to be a loser, or do you want to be cool, and awesome, like that girl from Sleater-Kinney?”

“Sleater-Kinney.” said Artemis, sadly. 

“Good girl. Go get the ritual, sister.” 

“Here.” She handed the singer a single sheet of paper. 

“That’s it?” asked Cindy. She stood behind Dennis, tightening the ropes around his arms. 

Artemis shrugged. “Yeah, I found it online.”

The lead singer cleared her throat and began to read. “We come here tonight to sacrifice the body of Dennis from Schuylkill Haven.”

“Please let me go. Please. I’ll do anything.” Dennis whined, thrashing at the restraints. “Any fucking thing.” 

“Okay.” said the punk singer. 

“...Okay?” Dennis was ecstatic. He really, honestly, was not expecting that to work. “What is it?” 

“Tell me my name.” 

“What is this, fucking Rumplestiltskin?” Dennis hissed. “Come on, what do I really have to do?” 

“You know me, Dennis Reynolds.” The singer leaned in close and stared him down. “What. Is. My. Name.” 

“Um…” Dennis blinked. “Tiffany?” 

“Gut him.” 

“Yeah! Let’s keep going!” yelled Artemis. Dennis shot her a betrayed look.

“Okay, uh… With the deepest malice, we deliver this virgin unto thee.” Not-Tiffany unsheathed a huge, shining knife, and put it up to Dennis’s cowering face. 

“That is one hot murder weapon.” said Cindy.

“It’s a Bowie knife.” said the singer, flipping it in her hand, the blade not quite touching Dennis’s cheek.

“Nice.” said Artemis, appreciating the knife. 

“Thanks. Alright, here we go.” 

The singer made a small incision on Dennis’s stomach. He shuddered at the touch of cold steel. “Please…” 

“Wait!” Cindy leaned over and turned up the last of the volume on the van’s radio. She squealed and started to sing, outrageously off-key for someone in a professional band, “Oh, you don’t know me but you make me so happy!”

The singer and Artemis laughed and joined in, “I tried to call you before, but I lost my nerve!” 

Without warning, the singer plunged the knife in. Dennis howled in pain, trying to squirm out of the restraints, but to no avail. 

“I tried my imagination, but I was dis—turbed!” 

Artemis passed the singer a bottle of Jack Daniels, who gulped it down. 

“JENNY, I’VE GOT YOUR NUMBER!” 

“That’s not even my—ugh—“ Dennis gargled blood as he was stabbed again. “—name!” 

“I NEED TO MAKE YOU MINE!” She took another drink, this tim from a shot glass that materialized out of nowhere. “DENNIS, DON’T CHANGE YOUR NUMBER!” 

Dennis watched in horror. “Are you,” —he paused to scream in agony— “are you drunk, right now? At my own goddamn sacrificial ritual?”

She smiled down at him and sank the blade into his heart. 

“8-6-7-5-3-0-9!”

“8-6-7-5-3-0-9!”

“8-6-7-5-3-0-9!”

—

“They killed you.” Mac said, stunned.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Dennis stared at the ceiling. “I mean, they did go Benihana on my ass with that knife. And it should have killed me, but for some reason, it didn’t.”

“Maybe it did.” Mac mumbled.

“Whatever. Anyway, I don’t really remember what happened after that. I just know that I woke up and I found my way back to you.”

“I remember.” Mac said, picturing Dennis in his ripped up clothes, leaning over him with a devilish grin.

“I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you.” Dennis said. “I mean, I’m a really good friend. I was just so hungry. And then I stumbled into Aleena, and no one even knew she was still alive...”

Dennis shrugged and gave Mac a weak smile.

“And ever since then, I just knew what I had to do to be strong. And when I’m full, like right now, I’m like… unkillable. I can do shit like this.”

He pulled a pocket knife out, and jammed it into his forearm, dragging it across the flesh. Mac looked away, wincing.

“Watch! It’s really cool, look.”

With a squelch, he pulled out the knife, and the wound closed over itself instantly. Mac reached out to feel the smoothed over skin, while Dennis grinned down at him.

“It’s like some X-Men shit, right?”

“Hold on, what do you mean ‘when you’re full’? And what about my mom’s Kia? Why were you covered in blood? You didn’t even look human, dude.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “I feel like you’re not getting this.”

Mac shook his head. “I’m not. I’m not getting it.”

“Look, think about it.” Dennis leaned closer. “I’m with a girl. She’s out in the middle of nowhere with some dude she barely knows. She looks around, and what does she see? Nothing but a bunch of woods.” He affected his voice higher, mocking. “Oh no, there’s nowhere for me to run! What am I gonna do?”

Mac frowned, trying to catch up. “Okay… that--that seems really dark, though.”

“No, it’s not dark.” Dennis waved him off. “You’re misunderstanding me, bro.”

“I think I am, understanding, actually,” Mac said, his voice steadily rising in volume, “because you were drenched in blood, and that just seems dark to me!”

Mac closed his eyes, mind racing. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “Are you hurting these women?”

“No!” Dennis protested, and Mac let out a sigh of relief. Thank god for-- 

“Well, actually… yes.” he paused. “I’m killing them.”

“Dude!”

“And eating them.”

“DUDE.”

Mac pinched the bridge of his nose. “And Dee?”

“What about her?”

When Dennis told Mac about being killed, or stabbed, or whatever really happened with the band, he never looked angry. He’d been apathetic, removed. Maybe there was some subtle sense of bitterness, or resentment, but never anger. But now, hearing Dee’s name, Dennis looked angry. Mac forced himself to not change the subject.

“Did you kill Dee, too?”

“I mean... yeah.” Dennis crossed his arms, defensive. "So?”

“So? So, Dee wasn’t Aleena, or Maureen, or...” Mac stopped, wondering if there were killings Dennis hadn’t even told him about. Best friends don’t keep secrets, he reminded himself.

“She was Dee.” Mac said, quietly. “She was your sister.”

Dennis narrowed his eyes. “She was there. She was in the way.”

“In the way of what, Dennis?”

Dennis bit his lip and wouldn’t meet Mac’s eyes. 

It was typical of Dennis to decide something, to believe it fully and absolutely, without bothering to share it with Mac. Mac was always left two steps behind, scrambling to catch up, desperately trying to become what Dennis wanted him to be. What Mac should wear, what he should say, who he should talk to, it was all decided for him. It’s about control, for Dennis. Everything is. And evidently, if Dennis sees Dee as out of his control, he’ll just... get rid of her.

Mac bolted upright. “Leave!”

“Come on, Mac. Let me stay the night!” Dennis smiled and slid his hand up Mac’s bicep. “We can play boyfriend-girlfriend.”

Mac jerked away from him and fixed him with a hard stare. “Den.”

Throwing up his hands, Dennis wandered over to Mac’s window and started to wind it open.

Mac watched him cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“Um, you said to leave.” He climbed out onto the windowsill. “See you at school, Mac.” Dennis bowed to Mac sarcastically before jumping out of the second story window.

Mac hurried over and looked out the window for the impact, but Dennis was already gone.

“Fuck.”

—

Mac arrived late to the cemetery, nervously pulling at his jacket as he found a spot near the back, shaded under a tree.

Mac saw Dennis’s dad, Frank, fiddling with his hairpiece, and his mom, Barbara, wearing a veil that covered her face. A few of Dee’s freaky friends from school were littered around the grave, looking more bored than solemn. And at the center of it all was Dennis, in a pristine suit. 

A priest’s voice rang out. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Deandra Reynolds, who was plucked from the prime of her youth…”

Mac watched Dennis chew on a toothpick. He didn’t stay much longer.

\--

They did a big memorial for Dee at school, and everyone had to watch another presentation about curfews, and the buddy system, and how to deal with grief.

But nobody seemed to care anymore. Sorrow was last week’s emotion. Everyone hoped things would turn around, that this would be the last funeral, but Mac knew better.

Mac tried to leave it alone, at first. Those punk girls tried to kill Dennis, so he was entitled to his revenge, whatever that may entail, right?

But the more Mac thought about Maureen, about Aleena, about Dee, he couldn’t shake the truth: they did nothing to Dennis. That night in the bar, even before Dennis had... changed, he’d said girls were just morsels. 'We hold the power here’, he said. The truth was, Dennis had always held the power; power over girls, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, power over Mac. The only thing that really changed was that Dennis found a brand new, profoundly fucked up way to utilize that power.

He hadn’t spoken to Dennis since that night in his room, and hadn’t seen him since that eerie moment at Dee’s funeral. The truth was, Mac hadn’t had much time to speak to anyone at all, he was too busy holed up in the library doing research. Paranormal research.

Mac’s eyes fluttered as he tried to concentrate on his book. Pushing up his reading glasses, the ones Dennis always hated, he read on, muttering to himself. “...forever feed on flesh to...“ He flipped a couple pages. “...demons are weakest when hungry… blade to the heart…”

Someone slammed their backpack down at his table, making him jump. Charlie slid into the seat next to him and bumped their knees together, looking wildly out of place in the library.

“Hey, man.” Charlie swiped a book off the table, and it landed open, spine side up, on the floor. “I went ahead and bought those formal tickets for us. You know, since you’ve been ghosting everybody. You owe me 12 dollars.”

The librarian shushed Charlie, and he flipped her off in response.

Mac looked back down at his book and tried to concentrate. “Charlie, I can't go to that dance with you.”

“What? Why? We always go to these things together. It’s not like it’s a—a date or anything.”

Mac didn’t respond, just opened up a notebook and jotted down something from his book. Charlie swiped the notebook off the table too. “What’s up with you?”

Mac yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Can you just trust me on this one, dude?” He leaned over to pick up the book and notepad. “You shouldn’t go to that dance at all.”

“What are you even talking about? And you look awful, by the way.”

Mac stood up, gathering his books with one hand and gripping Charlie’s arm with the other.

Charlie yelped as Mac dragged him to a secluded, unobservable part of the library. “Hey, what--”

“I just need to tell you something.” Mac said.

“Is this about Dennis again?”

“Yes, but this is the last time—“

“Look, Mac,” Charlie interrupted. “I care about you, dude. But I’m scared of what’s happening to you. You’ve been acting really fucked up.”

“Charlie! Please just let me show you.”

“Fine, whatever.”

Mac pulled Charlie down onto a bench. He twisted closer, their shoulders brushing as he stared into Charlie’s green eyes over the rims of his glasses. Mac paused and took a steadying breath.

“Dennis is evil.”

Charlie blinked at him. “I know.”

“No. I--” Mac rubbed a hand down his face. “I mean, he’s actually evil. Not high school evil.”

Charlie looked doubtful.

“Listen, I’ve been through the library’s occult section three times, and—“

“Our library has an occold section?”

“Occult, and yes, it’s, uh, really small. But you have to see this.”

He dropped a large tome into Charlie’s lap. “Ow!” Charlie whined. “Jesus, how heavy is that thing?” 

“Read it.” said Mac, pointing at a sentence.

Charlie squinted. “De.. Demon..”

“Demonic transference.” Mac finished, impatiently. “It’s what happens when you try to sacrifice a virgin to Satan, without using an actual virgin.” He turned the page. “Those punk chicks from the band tried to sacrifice him in the woods, but what they didn’t know was that he hasn’t been a virgin since junior high.”

Charlie scrunched up his face, still skeptical. Mac tapped the book emphatically.

“It all makes sense, Charlie! Look, listen to this. ‘If the human sacrifice is impure, the result may still be obtained, but a demon will forever reside in the soul of the victim. They must forever feed on flesh to sustain the demon’.”

“Okay…?”

“He’s eating girls!” Mac exclaimed. “He told me so himself. They make him all glowy and shit, and his hair looks amazing, and then when he’s hungry, he’s weak and cranky and ugly.” He waved a hand. “Ugly for Dennis, anyway.”

Mac snapped the book closed and turned to Charlie. “So you get it? The dance? It’ll be like an all you can eat buffet.”

“Dude, I think you need help.”

“You don’t believe me. You believe in leprechauns and ghouls and God knows what else but you don’t believe this. Fuck, this is a nightmare.”

“Are you going to the dance or not?” Charlie asked. “Because you owe me 12 dollars either way.”

“Can you shut up about the 12 dollars! I don’t owe you shit!” Charlie opened his mouth to respond and Mac cut him off. “--And yes, I’m going, but only to keep an eye on Dennis. You have to promise me that you won’t go.”

“Mac, really? Calm down, dude. It’ll be fine!”

Mac remembered Dennis, the night of the fire, leaning over and telling him the same thing, right before they went into that fucking bar. He felt his chest tighten, sharp and sudden, like inhaling smoke all over again.

—

All over Skull Kill Heaven, kids were getting ready for the dance, willfully ignorant that some poor chick was on her way to being Satan chow.

Alone in his bedroom, Mac adjusted his bow tie and carefully tucked the price tag back into the lapels of his new tux. He gelled his hair back until it was as stiff as humanly possible and examined himself from different angles in the mirror. After a quick glance at the clock, he headed down the stairs.

Mac rushed past the kitchen, before doubling back to fish his mom’s ladies’ pepper spray out of her purse. He hadn’t seen Dee’s body, but he heard what the kids at school had been saying about her, that she looked like lasagna with teeth. And a metallic back brace.

Mac tucked the aerosol can into the interior of his jacket.

\--

The dance was supposed to resemble an enchanted forest. An ill-timed, but fitting theme, Mac thought, mind drifting to Maureen’s lifeless corpse, and the expression on Dennis’s face as he explained how he lured vulnerable girls to the woods. Balloons and streamers littered the gymnasium in sickly purples and gorish greens, and the lights were dimmed to emphasize the twinkling lights that were strung up all around. After a quick look around, Mac made his way to the punch table.

He sipped Hawaiian punch from a plastic cup, assessing the crowd of high schoolers, envying their ease with each other. Mac knew everyone in the gym by name. Perks of living in a small town. But still, he’d never really talked to anyone outside of Dennis, Charlie, and (occasionally) Dee. He watched Brad Fisher dance by himself, self-conscious but determined, and wondered if he’d ever get to know these people, or if he would always be stuck staring at them behind a wall of windows, glued to Dennis’s side.

Forcing himself to stay on task, Mac pushed his way through the crowd of students and started his look-out for Dennis. Students danced around him on all sides as he stood still in the middle of the gym, assessing. Flashes of brown hair caught his eye, but none of them were Dennis. There was a sharp feedback noise from the stage and Mac turned to look, feeling jumpy.

It was their principal. “Can I have everyone’s attention please?” he said, not managing to gain anyone’s attention. Mac finished scanning the dance floor, and moved onto the corners of the gym, the entrance... No sign of Dennis. Mac shuffled back to the snack table to refill his solo cup and tuned into the announcements on stage.

“But the real treat is yet to come,” said their principal, “We have very special guests tonight! They were kind enough to take a break from their sold-out tour to play our dance, for free.”

The crowd finally started gathering interest, mumbling to each other excitedly from the dance floor. Mac gagged on his punch.

“Boys and girls, please welcome... The Pecan Sandies!”

Mac ducked down behind the snack table. He peeked his head up, just enough to view the girls on the stage. They were wearing much more expensive clothing, and their signature smokey eye makeup looked less wild animal, more runway. Students rushed towards the stage to get a glimpse. Mac snorted as he noticed Gail, in a hideous green dress, elbowing them to get to the front.

The Pecan Sandies introduced themselves and started singing their signature song.

Mac rolled his eyes and kept looking around. As the band plucked their final chords, Mac decided his quest to find Dennis was useless, and began to scan the crowd for Charlie. Charlie hadn’t told Mac he was going, not in those words, but after he made such a big deal about buying the tickets, Mac knew he had to be here. Somewhere. But maybe Mac was wrong. After all, he’d been sure Dennis would be here, too.

Dennis… Mac dropped his cup of Hawaiian punch, the juice pooling out on the linoleum floor like blood. Jumping up from his crouching position, he raced towards the door, crushing the plastic cup under his shoe and sending more red liquid gushing out.

On instinct, Mac bolted to Bubeck Park, heading for Mac and Charlie’s bench. He picked up the pace, the soles of his dress shoes tracking mud, and made it to the park in record time. He rested a hand on their bench. Charlie wasn’t there. Mac spun around, trying to think of where he would go. He stopped, head dizzy, when he heard a scream.

It was coming from that long abandoned diving pool, the pool that had been closed off when Jamie Nelson had drowned, back when they were kids. Mac took off in that direction, flinging off his suit jacket as he sprinted.

Heart thrumming, he made it to the pool and hopped the chain link fence, just like he used to do when it was an actual pool, and not a glorified landfill. Mac and Charlie used to sneak into this pool nearly every day. They would come here to fill their lazy summer days, with cannonballs and bellyflops, competitions to see who could hold their breath longer or swim farther. Every day, without fail, they would get kicked out, usually for running. One memorable instance, it was for them trying their best to drown each other to fulfill their suicide pact. You know, kid stuff.

Mac knew this pool all too well. The eerie, blue glow covering the place was new, though.

Mac stumbled onto the pool deck just in time to see them: Dennis and Charlie, waist deep in the murky reservoir of water gathered in the pool. Dennis’s jaw unhinged on Charlie’s jugular, almost exactly like the vision of Dennis devouring Dee, from that night in Mac’s attic. Charlie’s blood was spraying out like a fire hydrant, and Dennis’s eyes were completely white. Those white, supernatural eyes fixed themselves on Mac, but Mac was only focused on Charlie. He stood frozen as he watched Charlie groaning in pain, desperate and confused as he tried to break free from Dennis.

Charlie’s eyes landed on Mac, and he cried out for him, jumpstarting Mac into action.

“Mac!”

Mac dropped to his knees on the deck, and drew in a quick breath with closed eyes. He made the sign of the cross and whispered to himself: “Saint Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes... Please give me the power to crush this bitch.” When he opened his eyes, he zeroed them in on Dennis.

Dennis was unrecognizable. He looked more entity than human, and his expression was cold, evil. Without warning, Mac dived into the icy water, joining Dennis and Charlie in the deep end of the pool. Mac kicked at Dennis’s shins under the water, enough of a distraction for Dennis to lose his vice grip on Charlie. Yanking Charlie away from Dennis with his suit jacket, Mac held him under one arm, while he tried to use his free hand to dunk Dennis’s head under the water.

Dennis rose back up, spitting up water, unaffected. Frantically, Mac reached into the lining of his jacket for his mom’s pepper spray. The jacket he wasn’t wearing anymore, the one he discarded on the journey to the pool. Fuck.

In a last ditch effort, Mac kicked water in Dennis’s face as he front crawled to the other side of the pool, pulling Charlie’s limp body with him. They left a trail of Charlie’s blood behind them as Mac propelled himself forward, like a shark dragging its prey through the waves.

Dennis blinked the water out of his eyes, then shot straight up, levitating above the water. Water dripped out of the legs of his white suit, and Charlie’s blood dribbled down from his lips.

“Holy shit, he can fly?” Charlie choked the words out, distracted, as he let himself be pulled towards the pool’s ladder. Mac climbed up the rungs.

“He’s just hovering.” Mac said. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulders and used the last of his strength to haul him onto the deck. “It’s not that impressive.”

“God, do you have to undermine everything I do?” said Dennis. He was still floating above them, godly and sinister. “You are such a player hater.”

Mac staggered forward, pulling off his tie. Charlie was by his side, insides exposed, struggling to stand. Mac's own feet planted themselves firmly on the ground, and he spat in Dennis’s general direction. “You’re a jerk.”

Dennis smiled, false. “Wow, nice insult, Topanga. You got any more harsh digs?”

“You know what?” Mac shook his head, fighting an insane urge to smile. “You were never a good friend. Even when we met, you just used me for weed-- and--and... one time you poured lemonade on my bed!”

Dennis lowered himself to the pool deck. “And now I’m eating your boyfriend.” He took a step towards Mac. “See? At least I’m consistent.”

“Why do you need him? Huh?” said Mac, gesturing towards Charlie, who was now curled in on himself, groaning, at the side of the pool. “You could have anybody you want, Dennis. So why Charlie? Why my best friend?”

Mac watched Dennis’s carefully blank face. “Is it just to piss me off? Or is it because you’re just really insecure?”

Dennis laughed, if you could call it that. A weak, sputtering laugh.

“I am not insecure, Mac.” he spit out, voice wavering. “God, that’s a joke! How could I ever be insecure? I am the king of the mountain top. I reign supreme over everyone in this school! I am the Golden God of this place--”

Mac narrowed his eyes. “Are you?”

“I--I--”

“Maybe you were socially relevant,” said Mac. “Two years ago.”

Dennis balled his fists. “I am still socially relevant!”

“Remember? Back when you didn’t need laxatives to stay skinny?”

Mac smirked as Dennis paused. His smirk quickly faded when Dennis inched towards him.

“I… am going… to eat your soul...and shit it out, Mcdonald!”

Mac backed up. “I thought you only murdered girls.” he said, trying to distract him.

Dennis was unfazed. “I go both ways.”

He hurtled himself towards Mac, but Charlie was quicker. From his knees, he stabbed Dennis in the gut with a hand-held pool skimmer, using it like a spear. As Dennis threw himself towards Mac, he impaled himself on the handle. He cried out as it sliced through his torso. Charlie collapsed on the deck.

Dennis, wobbly on his feet, excavated himself from the skimmer, wincing as he pulled it from his torso. “Ow…Ow…” His trembling hands, red with blood, covered the hole in his body.

Dennis shuffling out of the exit was an afterthought to Mac, and he didn’t even consider going after him, not with Charlie bleeding out by his feet. Mac dropped onto his knees by his side.

“Charlie…”

Charlie’s neck was still bleeding steadily, and his chest was gashed open, revealing his ribs. His eyes fluttered open and closed, open and closed. Mac pressed down on his neck, feeling warm blood slide down his wrists.

“Mac. Man….” Charlie looked up at him, giving Mac his trademark goofy smile. “I should’ve believed you. I’m sorry.” He chuckled, then coughed up blood.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I’m gonna call for help.” Mac reached into Charlie’s pocket, fumbling around for his cellphone. He flipped it open. Waterlogged, and drenched in some unearthly black ooze.

“It’s… It’s not working. It’s not working.” Mac took in a ragged breath, then wiped at the tears streaming down his face.

Charlie reached up towards him, eyes fogged over. “I’m goin’ somewhere, dude.”

“No,” Mac said, “No, you’re not going anywhere--”

“Yes, I am. I’m definitely going to die. I think I already did.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Mac grabbed Charlie’s hand, the one that rested itself on Mac’s cheek, with his own.

Charlie grinned. “I love you.”

It’s not like they had never said it before. They’ve said it before. Charlie said it when Mac would pull out the inhalants he dutifully restocked in his sock drawer. They would say it to each other on Christmas Eve, when they would meet up by the waterfall to throw rocks into the whirlpool. They said it nearly every day when they were eight years old, when there was nothing the two of them couldn’t do. Mac sometimes said it at the end of a phone call, and Charlie would make fun of him for it, right before saying it back. Mac said it when Charlie showed up on his doorstep, covered in dirt, wordlessly holding out a junkyard dog in his arms, on Mac's birthday.

But this was different. This was final.

“I love you too.”

Charlie’s eyes closed. His face went slack. Mac rested his head on his bloody chest, crying, and stayed there until light flooded in.

\--

( The police found Charlie shortly after Mac left him in the morning. The press release was brief-- they chalked it up to drug overdose. They didn’t know how to explain it, so they pretended. They made up a story that made sense with the victim’s history, and quietly mopped up his blood. People in town were almost pleased, in a sick way, to hear that this death had been something explainable. Even when all evidence pointed otherwise. If you were to look at the evidence, that is. Most didn’t. )

\--

Mac sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, bouncing his leg. Either he let Dennis stack up his kill count until the entire town was toast, or... he stopped him. The choice was obvious, but Mac didn’t know if he could actually kill Dennis. Even after what he did to Charlie.

The memory of Dennis, waltzing up to Mac’s newfound spot under the bleachers and introducing himself, the sun beaming behind his back, was still just as vivid as the sleepless morning Mac had just spent scrubbing Charlie’s blood off of his hands, watching the last of his best friend swirl down the drain of his bathroom sink. Dennis, bloodthirsty and vengeful, was still inextricable from Dennis, the brightest center of his dull life. No matter what, being around Dennis was always the most exciting thrill he’d ever had. But the Dennis that Mac knew, the Dennis he loved, was gone, and Mac had known that longer than he wanted to admit. Dennis had crept toward his car after killing Dee, and Mac had pressed on the gas without a second thought. Mac had always known.

He changed out of his blood-soaked, grey-water stained dress clothes. He tied double knots on his boot laces. And then he stalked through the woods, heading for Dennis’s house.

The Reynolds residence was the fanciest you could get in Skull Kill, which, admittedly, wasn’t extremely fancy. But still, it was much nicer than Mac’s house, much bigger than Charlie’s. There was a kitchen with a marble countertop, a door with a bronze knocker. Grass on the front lawn that was always green. Dennis had a bedroom on the first floor.

Mac squinted at him through the low window, a window he’s had plenty of experience sneaking in and out of. Dennis was lying in the center of his four poster bed, eyes focused on his small television set. From what Mac could tell, he had fully healed from getting sliced up earlier. No obvious wounds. Mac watched as Dennis ran his hand through his hair, pulling a few strands out like weeds. Dennis rolled over, looking bored by the TV, and stared out the darkened window. Mac crouched down, out of sight.

Dennis stretched, turning off the TV set, and switched off the light before closing his eyes. Mac waited a split second, then slammed the window with a hammer and launched himself through.

Dennis shot up at the sound, and Mac took a wild swing at his head. He missed, and the hammer flew out of his hand, crashing into the mirror on Dennis’s wall. More broken glass to coat the floor.

“What the hell, Mac?” Dennis’s voice was oddly collected, but his body held a slight tremor.

“You fucking killed Charlie, you goddamn monster!” Mac threw himself on top of Dennis, hands circling his throat. “You… zom-broni!”

Dennis clawed at Mac’s arms. He bit into Mac’s shoulder, and Mac yelped and pulled back on instinct, the wound too shallow to really deter him. Mac pulled out his weapon and flicked it open like a switchblade.

“You know what this is for?” Mac held the blade under Dennis’s chin. “It’s for cutting boxes.”

“Sounds useful.” said Dennis, blocking Mac’s next lunge with the weapon with his forearm. “Do you buy all your murder weapons at Home Depot?”

Mac took the box cutter and made two slashes on Dennis’s stomach, a grisly “X” written in blood. “Cross out Dennis!”

Dennis gasped, staring down at the wound. He started to levitate, Mac still straddling him. Blood dripped down onto the bed sheets while Dennis tried to wrestle out of Mac’s grip in midair.

A strangled laugh escaped from Mac as reality set in; he was hovering over Dennis’s bed, trying to murder him. Mac stared at Dennis, frozen, almost smiling. Dennis stared back through narrowed eyes, and they both thumped back onto his bed, lying side by side.

Dennis’s head fell to Mac’s shoulder, resting right below where he had bitten into him. Mac laid there with him, listening to both of their heartbeats beat in time. 

“Mac, I…”

Dennis didn’t finish his sentence, but Mac knew what he meant. He always did. Dennis meant, ‘I’m sorry. I wish we could go back. I do love you, really’. Or maybe that was just Mac's own wishful thinking. 

Either way, it wasn’t enough.

Mac hovered over Dennis, raised the box cutter, and plunged it into Dennis’s chest. Blood pulsed from his chest.

“Dude, my pecs!”

“No,” said Mac, twisting the knife in deeper. “Your heart.”  
\--

Mac inspected Dennis for any movement, but he was still. He dropped the blood-stained blade, heard it clatter onto Dennis’s hardwood floor.

Then, footsteps on the very same floor.

The light flicked on. “...Dennis?” It was Dennis’s mom, Barbara, in a silk bathrobe, holding the small dog she adored. “Dennis!”

Mac rolled over onto the floor, watching listlessly as Barbara held Dennis’s body. Even now, Dennis still looked artful, alluring. Mac watched Barbara tap Dennis’s pulse with manicured hands. 

“Oh, thank god.”

Mac froze. Barbara’s next words sounded far away, muffled. “He’s still alive.”

It wasn’t enough.

\--

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

All Mac remembers is waking up from his slumber party at Dennis's, in handcuffs, in the back of a squad car.

And now? He’s rotting in a juvenile detention center, he's receiving letters from his adoring fans. He's twirling yarn around sticks.

Mac doesn’t quite know who he is anymore. A different person. Someone who kicks orderlies and sees things that aren’t there. A very bad, very damaged person. A person who’s maybe still a little in love with someone he’s planning to kill. 

Mac knows Dennis is still out there, and he knows he’s still alive. The people in Schuylkill Haven think Mac is the crazed killer. And Dennis is too smart to start killing again when the culprit is already locked up.

It’s been three months since he last fed, which makes Dennis the weakest he’s ever been. Time to strike.

Mac sits in his same empty room, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. He pulls at the neckline of his shirt and absently scratches at the bite mark on his shoulder. Sitting cross legged, he begins to hover off the floor.

Most occult scholars don’t know this, but if you’re bitten by a demon, and live…

You just might absorb some of the demon’s abilities.

High up, Mac reaches a narrow window, one no one else would ever be able to reach. He punches through the glass and army crawls through.

You just might get lucky for once in your miserable life.

Shaking glass shards off his knuckles, Mac strides through the grounds. The grass outside is wet on his bare feet. He reaches the security fence and mangles the bars, passing through it. Easy enough. 

Mac sticks his thumb out, cars whizzing past him as he ambles down the highway. Out of the corner of his eye he notices something glinting in a puddle, and leans down to check it out.

It’s a Bowie knife.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> talk to me abt this au on tumblr @ billhaderdyke , i'd love to expand on things i decided to keep vague in the story or just chat :-)


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